Crimson Rose
by time-will-give-us-nothing
Summary: COMPLETE! When Harry visits St.Mungo's to check up on Draco, he ends up seeing Neville and his parents. Warning: Possibly DEPRESSING! 3rd person and mostly Harry's point of view POV


**Crimson Rose**

It was not the brightest of days in the wizarding world—even though the great lord voldemort had been defeated by harry potter, there were some days that the sky would grow grey, not allowing anyone to see the glorious, hopeful sun. It was to be expected—it was the seasonal winter, and snow constantly fell during the night, deciding that was the best time for the skies to cloud.

Harry's feet were practically swamped in the five foot snow, and his whole body was shivering from head to toe. He hoped that frost bite wouldn't come upon him, even though he could get it fixed right away. Layered in three shirts, a coat, thick books and a scarf ,Harry dug his way through the snow and managed to get inside St. Mungo's.

He had no clue how the place had survived as it did, but somehow it was still standing, still looking particularly fantastic in every way possible. Harry still didn't enjoy the hospital that much—all the sick and half-dead people around him. Whenever he took a breath of air in, it was dry and cold; almost made him want to curl up besides a fire with a mug of butterbeer.

Harry was here to see Hermione and Ron, maybe Luna if she found the time to come in her busy schedule of being a Magical Creature Naturalist. They were all joining in together too see none other then Draco Malfoy. Some people would find it hard that natural enimies would see each other, but it wasn't that hard.

They had learned that Draco never wanted to be a Death Eater—that he tried to fight it for a year or so before he was finally _forced _too by his father. It was kind of sad really; only few people knew how it was to be treated as a slave against your will. It wasn't fun—that's for sure. Draco had a sickness that was causing his body too shut down. Every part of him—offline. It was scary, and even more frightening that Draco just _smiled _and said it was _fine_. Not only that, he would wipe a _tear _away from the corner of his eye and sniff in front of them shamelessly, saying that he _deserved _it.

Harry knew Hermione was blown away by the sudden change, and possibly turned on. Even though she liked bad boys, people like Draco... Harry and Ron tried dearly not to pity him, but it was hard. Just looking at him—asleep or awake—it made you _cry!_. It was so depressing seeing Malfoy this way—sometimes you just wanted to punch the disease and tell it to leave the poor rich man alone.

Not allot of people knew the truth about Draco, but those who did kept low and quiet about it, knowing that it was a dear secret of Draco's. Draco had to have his pride left for him, even if he said that it didn't matter any more.

Harry had a crimson red rose in his hand, and it was smothered in snow flakes, making it shimmer beautifully as the snow crystals slowly melted and leaked down the lush petals onto the fragile stem. He checked in with the front desk lady, who flinched in shock when Harry told her his name. Harry narrowed his eyes; usually people didn't flinch anymore. The girl was a newbie, she had never seen him before—probably only heard about him.

But then, the girl smiled in a way that made Harry's stomach turn upside down. He could almost see the tears in her eyes. "Another famous boy, eh?" Harry raised his eyebrows, confused at her tearful statement. Was there another famous boy? Not trying to sound conceited, but Harry was _the _one. _The _boy. _The _boy-who-lived. _He _was _him. _Not understanding her comment one bit, Harry opened his mouth to say something, but the female simply shook her head, the starch blonde pony-tail flying with her head movement.

"They told me about you, Mr. Potter. I just came here—you can call me Mary. No formal—just Marry. Well, I believe it's my lucky day! Who are you here to see? They told me it would be Mr....Malfoy, isn't it? Malfoy Draco?"

Harry nodded slowly, unsure to how he should answer. He was slightly weirded out, and wanted to wiggle away from the conversation so he could go see his friends and Draco. Finally, Harry left and was walking in the halls towards Draco's room. He looked at the walls—they were decorated with Christmas toys and colors, and a candle floated around every now or them, flickering when a rush of air passed it. As Harry walked towards Draco's room, he sluggishly slipped off his gloves, wanting to feel his frozen-numb fingers.

When Harry entered Draco's room, he was stunned to see no one was in there. Instead, just a medical bed with the covers flipped to side, and now medical shoes on the floor. Neither Ron or Hermione were in the room either, sending his fright and suspicion on high. When he turned around, Luna was right beside him, making him yelp in stun and fright. Sometimes the woman got _too _close.

The blonde girl was coated in a green sweater and yellow-as-the-sun capri's. She had sandals on her small feet and a thick winter hat upon her head. Her stunningly bright blue eyes were wide, and pink lips slightly parted. Her cheeks were red from the cold. "Hello Harry," she greeted in the majestic voice she always talked in.

"Err, Hello luna," Harry replied. The girl slightly reminded him of moon-flowers—but maybe that was because she reminded him of the moon, which had the nickname of 'luna'. The girl wasn't so much of a freak—just different. Awkwardly different... Harry was excited she could find time off, but that didn't matter anymore since the patient wasn't even in the correct room. Was he even in the hospital? "Do you know where Draco is?," Harry asked lightly, keeping his voice low so no one would yell at him for talking to loud in a hospital.

"Oh yes!," Luna said, nodding curtly as a small smile graced her lips. Her eyes went down the hall, where it ended with a wall, and then a turn before they came back to him. She held out her hand. "I can take you too him—and Hermione and Ron. But you have to be silent."

Harry wanted to ask why, but refrained. There was many questions he had for Luna, and not even one-fourth of them were asked, less answered. Luna's fingers wrapped around his, and she skipped off gleefully and silently, Harry following after her. They turned the corner, and that's when Harry's heart fluttered in reassurance. Draco was standing by a door in his medi-outfit, his hand against the wall and long hair tied in a pony tail. His cheek was pressed against a door frame, to where he looked into the room from the side. Right beside him was Ron and Hermione, silently observing too.

Luna skipped over to them, but Harry simply walked. Not bothering to hide himself, he stood in the middle of the door, peering into the room. His blood ran cold. Harry took a step back, but he couldn't find himself to look away—the sight was all too horrifying. He started to tremble all over, wishing that he wasn't witnessing what was going on. He wanted to run away—or maybe step from clear sight—but he didn't. He was frozen to the spot.

Neville Longbottom was on a chair, dressed in dark pants, boots, a long-sleeve shirt and a long black coat. Part of his long, curly brown hair was tied up in a lace, while the other half rested on his thin, narrow shoulder gently. His lips were pink, parted in a soft, sad smile. Eyes half-lidded and distant, the greenish-brown orbs were almost pitiful from the sorrowing, mock-happiness that dwelled within him. The bulb of his nose was red from the frost, even though he wasn't covered in a bit of snow. Dangling from his hand was a circular watch, chained onto a golden chain. His lips were moving slowly, and he was speaking so softly that Harry could barely hear him.

It didn't take Harry much longer to notice that there were clear tear tracks running down his cheeks, and that the train's were still coming. A clear, liquid tear streamed down Neville's eye upon his cheek, where it melted on his lips. Neville didn't look the salty substance away, just kept going in a soft, barely hearable voice.

A man and a woman where in front of him, both sleeping. The covers of their bed were pulled up to their necks, and they looked as cosy as could be—Harry knew who they were; Frank and Alice Longbottom, Neville's parents. The two mad-driven parents were hooked up to a life support system and a radar, which slightly made Harry sick to his stomach. What did Neville feel like when he saw his parents like this? What was going through the man's head right now?

Harry glanced at Ron and Hermione, who payed not attention to him, rather focusing on Neville. Their looks were sincere and pitiful—depressing. Harry was brought back to a moment in his life where he felt like the smallest thing on the world. Everyday, Harry prayed that his parents would come back to him, knowing they never wood. He could remember them so clearly, and so easily. The words of his fellow diceased love-ones were imprinted in unfading ink. His fathers cocky smile was magnificent, his mothers kind one even better. But just looking at them was never enough—he would always want them to come back to him.

Neville had it worse then him, Harry knew it. Every time he thought about Neville and his relationship with his parents, it always caused him to shudder. Neville's parents didn't die—no, they were forcefully cursed to madness. Now, they knew nothing of their son, yet their son knew everything about them. Neville once said, a long, long while ago that he would rather have them this way then not have them at all—but Harry knew that was a downright _lie_. He didn't know how he would live, knowing that his own _parents _didn't recognize him. It was horrid, just like the scene playing out in front of him.

Finally, Harry's ears caught up to the softness of the conversation, and he was able to pick up some words. "....Their beautiful, mum, you would like them. I should've brought some in, but I forgot—not a surprise. Anyway, they have a purple, red, and orange petal, and you could fall in love with one if you wanted too. That's how beautiful they are. But their pollen is poisonous, and anything that tries to eat them will die. Kind of sad, really."

It was obvious Neville was talking about plants to his mother, and all it did was make Harry's heart sink lower into the abyss. _Neville treats them like real people_, Harry thought silently to himself. _Like they understand what he's saying_. This was a desperate plea, realized Harry. He's just....like me.

Neville smile slowly drifted off his face, replaced with a deep-hearted frown. "Sometimes, I wonder what it would be like if you could actually hear me, mum, dad. Now you kind of just laying there sleeping while a rant about flowers....so...I love you."

The conversation was done. Neville stood up from his seat, a solemn look upon his face, and touched the flowed pot between the two bed sets. The wilting flower immediately flew strait, and the flower itself blossomed into a large, vibrant piece. It was blue and white, and it shimmered for some off reason. It was almost luminescent, and it glowed. The lush green stem and leaves zipped up so fast you would think they were whipped, and at the end result was a fantastic, magical flower.

Neville paused, his fingers dwelling on the flower pot before he turned, looking strait into Harry's eyes. Harry's body felt electrified as he saw those horrid eyes, gleaming with sadness. They were wet and full with sorrow, like all hope was gone. Harry couldn't look away—not even when Lune, Hermione, Ron, and Draco left(Draco being held in Ron's arms).

Harry didn't know how fast Neville got in front of him, but he did, and now, he was holding the crimson flower while he touched Harry's hand at the same time. Neville's hand was cold—Harry wondered if he dipped it in an ice bucket. The flower went from alive to dead in only seconds. Harry didn't take his eyes off Neville.

But then, his eyes were on nothing. Neville was walking away from him at a steady pace, not even looking back. When Harry looked down, he saw the flower, which was once vibrant and colorful, now gray and wilting.

That's what Neville felt like. Dead.

**End**

_*yarns* Review _

(Sorry for spelling mistakes, thes screen was becoming blurry cuz of my lack of sleep)_  
_


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